Let Your Emotions Speak
by AgentNote
Summary: ONESHOT. A tag to Retaliation. Emily/Morgan friendship, but no pairing. The two have a conversation a day after the case. Kind of angsty. Please review, I love input! Rating for language.


**A/N: Yet another oneshot. I wrote it on a whim of boredem, so I don't even know if I like it. Emily/Morgan friendship, no pairing. I'm assuming there will be mistakes, but please forgive me. Please please review! I still haven't quite gotten the feel of fanfiction and would love input and any suggestions. I kind of feel like I dragged this piece out and would appreciate your thoughts on that. **

**Disclaimer: *Sigh* Do not own, never will... :'(**

**Spoliers: Profiler, Profiled (2x12) and Retaliation (5x11)**

At first she was dazed. All she could remember was that she was safely buckled into a cop car, with a criminal stowed in the back. She was with a detective. What was his name? Bunting. His name was Bunting.

She remembered everything. The criminal, that immense bastard, he had kidnapped his daughter. He had killed someone…someone…Stacey. Stacey Ryan. But what was the guy's name?

_Think, think, _a voice in her head urged her. And so she did.

Shrader? Yes. That was it. Dale Shrader. He was in the car. He leaned over and the next thing she knew she was rolling down a hill, glass invading her body and blood splattering the windows. And now she was here. In a broken car in the middle of the woods.

She knew the road was just up the hill. But she couldn't get there. Her body was too weak. _Bunting,_ she thought. Trying to turn her head to signal Bunting to go ahead up the slope to flag down a passing car, she noted that Shrader was no longer in the backseat.

_Where is he?_

That's when she saw him. He was leaning over Bunting, choking him to death.

"No," she said as Shrader turned his attention towards the brunette agent. "No," she repeated. Not listening, the escapee knocked her head back into the seat, leaving her dazed, or more dazed than she already was, for a moment.

Emily tried to stop him, but her seatbelt was jammed. In no time, Shrader had reached into her pockets and retrieved the keys to his cuffs.

Just then, the brunette agent spotted a truck stopping at the top of the hill. No…That wasn't just any truck, that was _the_ truck. The truck that had crashed into the cop car.

Prentiss saw a man running down the hill. Trying to alert him of the criminal trying to escape, she called out, "I'm a federal agent. I have a prisoner in here who's just killed this officer…!" She continued, but something wasn't right.

The man from the truck grabbed Shrader from the car and pushed him against the door.

"No, no! That's the prisoner," She cried out, attempting to gain the man's attention. Instead, though, it seemed as if the two were arguing.

Confused, Emily listened to the man tell Shrader to put pressure on the wounds. It didn't make any sense. He was _helping_ him. Why? Why would he do that?

And that's when it hit her.

Shrader had a partner.

This man, this random civilian who happened to crash his truck into a cop car and come circling back to the accident, only to help the criminal rather than the officers, was a criminal himself. Not knowing exactly what to do, Emily watched as the twosome ran up the hill, escaping into the comforts of the truck, and zoom away.

Quickly snapping out of her moment of weakness, Prentiss forced open the buckle and kicked her way through the windshield. Glass shattering around her, she pulled out her gun and began to fire, not having any idea where the truck was, let alone if it was still there.

Moving up the hill, her eyes finally settled on the vehicle. Emily continued to fire her gun, though she knew inside that they were going to get away.

Reaching the top of the hill, the disheartened and injured agent plopped down on the cold dirt. Slowly, her eyes slipped shut, and so did she, into a world where nothing mattered and everything was better.

"Pull over! That's…Pull over!" The words were hazy and unclear, but she was almost positive it was Morgan.

"Prentiss!" This time it was clearer. And it definitely was Morgan.

"What the hell happened? You alright?" Morgan questioned Emily quickly, but as she gripped her head and stammered through the questions, he realized the seriousness of the situation. He got away. Shrader got away.

"That son of a bitch got away…," Morgan dragged off.

"He's got a partner," Emily clarified.

Morgan looked out towards the road. It was dark and the road was long. He glanced back towards Prentiss. She needed to get to a hospital, stat. Morgan sighed. They had underestimated Shrader. Their whole profile was wrong. And now Emily was on the verge of collapsing and a cop was dead.

Morgan stopped mid thought. _Stop berating yourself_, he thought. _You're a profiler, not a god. You can't get everything right all the time._ But as he looked down at Emily clutching her head in pain, blood dripping from a nasty gash on her head, he wished he could.

The next night.

"Emily?"

Emily whipped around, the file on the edge of her desk scattering to the floor.

"Morgan," she stated.

"Um, hey. What are you still doing here? You really should be at home."

Emily sighed. Morgan had been pounding her all day about getting some sleep. He was convinced she shouldn't have even come into the office, but his hopes were shattered when Emily appeared, bright and early.

"Don't tell me what or where to be. I have so much work I have to finish because I was too busy being poked by doctors and interrogated by the police. I need to get this done," she stopped, gesturing to a pile of folders, and continued, "and then I will _think_ about heading home."

Sighing, Morgan plopped down on his chair and wheeled it up to Prentiss's desk.

"Listen," he began, "I know that yesterday was hard on you. I get it."

"No, you do not get it Morgan. You absolutely do not understand."

"Yes, I do—,"

"NO!" The brunette screamed at the top of her lungs. It was a good thing it was late. Hotch wasn't even in his office working, that's how late it was. If he was, or if anyone else had been in the building, security guards would have busted through the doors, convinced an axe murderer was on the loose in the BAU.

"You do not get it," Emily stated, suddenly calmer. Tears began streaming down her face. As quick as Emily had calmed, she riled right up again. "I watched someone die, Derek! Bunting was murdered in front of me, and there was NOTHING I COULD DO ABOUT IT!"

Morgan flinched as Emily's words pierced the otherwise silent air. Up until then he had been quiet, allowing his friend to release the whirlwind of emotions locked up inside. But those last words hit him hard and he roughly stood up, pushing back his chair.

Emily jumped. The other agent's chair flew back, knocking over countless objects. Suddenly, Morgan was towering above her, face contorted with anger.

"You think _you_ have it hard? You think _you_ couldn't do anything about it? Do you really think you're the ONLY one who's ever seen someone DIE?" Emily stared in disbelief at the sudden change in her friend's behavior. About to open her mouth, she quickly clamped it shut as Morgan continued.

"I WATCHED MY DAD DIE, EMILY! AND THERE WAS NOTHING, _NOTHING_, THAT I COULD DO ABOUT IT!"

Realization hit her like a brick. _Of course_, Emily thought to herself. _His dad…_

Suddenly, as if Morgan had never burst out like he just did, he retrieved his chair and plopped down onto it. The cushion made a slight _wheeze_ sound, as if it too was too tired to continue.

"Derek, I'm sorry. I completely forgot," the female profiler whispered softly.

A minute passed before he said anything back.

"It's ok, I forgive you. In fact, you don't even need to be sorry. That was way out of line of me. I just got mad is all. But Emily, I really _do_ get what you're going through. It's hard, and I know that."

"I know you do. And I do need to be sorry…And I am."

Moments of silence followed. Neither of them had anything to say. The two simply sat there in the quiet, drinking it in. Quiet was hard to come by for a profiler.

"You know," Morgan randomly piped up. "This kind of is our home."

Emily shot him a quizzical look, not understanding at all what he was talking about.

"When I told you that you should be home resting…This kind of is our home, isn't it?"

"Yeah…I suppose…" Emily mumbled.

"Em, why are you really here?" Morgan softly asked her the question. Prentiss simply looked down at the floor. Finally, she whispered.

"I can't go home. I just can't. Honestly, this isn't the first time I've stayed this late. I mean, what's the difference between my house and the BAU? One place I feel safe in, and the other I feel stranger to. Guess which one is which."

Morgan sat up straighter, registering his friend's words. It was true. They hardly spent any time at home. Their life was their job.

"Yeah, I get that…,"

After even more minutes of silence, Morgan initiated, "You know what? Don't go home. Or whatever home is. Stay here. Just don't work. Because when you work, it's work. When you don't work on the other hand…Well…This place can almost feel like home."

Morgan stood up to leave then, patting his friend's back. Turning around, he was stopped by Emily's hand grabbing his arm.

"Derek. Thank you. And listen, I really am sorry. I get that I'm not the only one who had to suffer. Who had to watch someone's life be destroyed. But you're not the only one either. Every person who works in this building has seen lives be taken away for no reason at all."

"Well," Morgan started as he processed the thought, "I guess that's why we're here. To help those people get through it." Emily nodded in agreement, a solemn look plastered on her face. Out of nowhere, however, the male agent began to laugh. In seconds, he was doubling over laughing.

"Why are you laughing?" Emily asked, shocked and confused.

"It's nothing, nothing. It's just…Well, I think sometimes people forget that we see more death then they'll ever see. But yet we're the ones comforting them. People forget that sometimes we need comforting too!" Morgan wiped his eyes. "Hey. But I guess that's why we're the profilers. We can go the longest without letting anything out."

Derek turned to leave once more, but Emily stood up and stopped him.

"You want to get a drink?"

"What?"

"Come on, Derek. You're right. But sometimes we do need to let stuff out."

A pregnant silence filled the air, but finally Morgan answered, "Sure. Yeah, let's go."

The two turned of the lights and headed for the door, Emily grabbing her coat on the way out. A night at the bar was exactly what they needed. Little did they know that practically the whole rest of the BAU would be there.

Because after all…Once and a while, a profiler _does_ need to let all those bundled up emotions out.


End file.
